


Stitch

by SilverBlue



Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Pre-Localised Names
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2016-07-15
Packaged: 2018-07-24 04:43:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7494246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverBlue/pseuds/SilverBlue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Saizou returns from a mission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stitch

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry, I couldn't help but wonder whether they could ever be romantic and ... this was the result. I promise this is the last of this pair.
> 
> Apologies also for any inaccuracies :x

Saizou was sitting at the table wrapped in a dim candlelit glow, face uncovered and his left sleeve hanging loosely from the shoulder as he bore out his forearm. Water streaked over his skin and trickled back into the bowl, darkening with each handful he poured. The towel he used was already half stained in pink and red, though it would only be a matter of time before the colours withered into brown.  
  
When he held the needle over the flame he heard a sharp intake of breath.  
  
“How long have you been awake.”  
  
He already knew, but wanted to see whether his wife would continue feigning sleep. His answer came when she sat up and padded over, peering at the angry split in his skin with a frown.  
  
“You should be getting that seen to.”  
  
He snorted but said nothing. He had been dressing wounds for so long he couldn’t even remember when he first started. To him, it was but a scratch. No point waking someone just to cause a fuss.  
  
“You’re seriously thinking of sewing that up yourself? You can barely hold the needle.” Indeed, his hand was trembling, most likely from the adrenaline that had yet to drain out of his system. “Give it here.”  
  
He let her pull the needle from his grasp and she drew a chair close beside him.  
  
She got to work quickly, rubbing alcohol on the needle and positioning the tip over where she would make the first stitch. Neither of them winced when needle pierced skin. He kept his eye on the woman who grumbled out commentary about his incompetence as a shinobi. Her complaints were subdued when addled with sleep, hazy and soft, but they never completely disappeared. It would be a sign for caution if they did.  
  
“You should demand a pay rise with each injury, and more for the nights you’re away.”  
  
Her sewing was equal to all her other domestic skills, each stitch evenly spaced and identical in shape. This would become one of his better scars – maybe one of the best.  
  
“How did you even get a cut here anyway, don’t tell me you were reckless enough to lose the gauntlet.”  
  
The first slice was so sharp it nearly cut through the binding, and by the fifth he had gained the gash in exchange for his lost blade. Either he had to be reckless or Suzukaze; not that he didn’t trust his little brother in battle, but if it saved the younger from having to bear an extra scar then he would gladly let his own skin stand the test.  
  
“I’m surprised you even let them get this close to you, I thought you kept your distance.”  
  
They did usually, and they had, at least until they realised they had been misinformed, and what should have been one or two guards was more than a handful … each.  
  
“Maybe you should re-class yourself as a berserker – one swing and you wipe out three.”  
  
Little did she know, he had already tried this once in secret with a marriage seal still in his possession, but found the battlewear to be too revealing. He understood too late that he was poorly prepared for the outcome and spent the next three days “missing” trying to get hold of a parallel seal, only for Suzukaze and Kagerou to find him after they followed rumours of a “rogue berserker ransacking villages”.   
  
“Great for anger management too. Might curb your urge to self-destruct.”  
  
He made them swear, with the threat of blowing himself (and in effect them) up, never to tell another soul or they would find themselves making a swift departure from this world – blood, partnership, reputation or consequences be damned.  
  
(He almost exploded anyway with the way Kagerou’s lips curled at the corner in being thoroughly entertained and how Suzukaze smiled at him with affectionate pity; it was the equivalent of them laughing at him, straight to his face.)  
  
“You’re not getting a fever are you?” Saizou was tugged back to the present when he felt her warm hand on his ear and neck. “You seem to be burning up.”  
  
“I’m fine,” he said when she felt his forehead, and he pushed the memory (far, far) into the back of his mind. Her amused huff made him raise his eye to her. “What?”  
  
She was wearing that grin, the one that said she knew something about him that he himself didn’t. “You’re almost cute when you do that.”  
  
“Do what?” He could feel his face burning up again.  
  
She felt his other ear, nodding at herself in confirmation. “When you follow my hands with your face.”  
  
Was he leaning into her touches? He deliberately turned away which set off her giggles, which in turn fanned the fire in his cheeks.  
  
Her good humour dissolved in concentration to finish the stitching, tying the thread and cutting it free. She dabbed at his skin gently with the damp towel to wipe the stain before applying bandages.  
  
“You should still see someone about this, maybe you can stop it from scarring.” She grumbled a little further about what she did to end up with a man who crisscrossed himself in scars. She was one to talk; he had counted and traced far too many clean but faded lines patterned across her pale skin.  
  
Slowly she wrapped the bandage – firmly, but with the barest hint of room to allow movement. For a woman who was ruthless in battle, charging at her enemies with a cry that would send even the strongest of men scampering back, she channelled the power in her hands with precision. That was one of the things he had come to love about her, she knew exactly what was required of the situation, whether it was out in the field of conflict or between the sheets of intimacy (most times; she still had a habit of putting on that sickly tone, though he imagined it was to purposefully annoy him.)  
  
She finished with a knot and he looked to admire the handiwork. “Not bad.”  
  
“ _Not bad?_ That’s the best you’ll see and more than you deserve.” She stood up with a yawn, towelling her hands dry. “Interrupting my beauty sleep ... Next time you come home wounded you can patch yourself up on your own.”  
  
He watched her slip under the covers, mumbling to herself as she did so. It was an empty threat when previous wounds, while they didn’t need stitches, proved she would awaken.  
  
He stripped free of his clothes and waited until her breathing steadied, knowing fully well that she was still feigning sleep, and then blew out the candle to join her. When he draped his injured arm loosely over her body he heard a muffled but gentle sigh. Dawn would soon arrive but he wouldn’t be seeing anyone about the wound, nor would he for any other wounds she may dress in the future, not when he could have permanent memories of their evenings or days etched into his skin for him to recall with a single stroke of his finger.  
  


**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't already done so, I highly recommend you class-change Saizou into a berserker, even if only temporarily, just for pure entertainment.


End file.
